Ahead of Schedule and Overdelivering - how overacheiving is BAD during pregnancy...

Normally, the American Way is to do things bigger better and faster, and that is Good. When dealing with baby-growing, average really is optimal. Trust me. I know this for several reasons.
The first reason is that being ahead of the curve when it comes to labor readiness, actually translates into a cootch that hurts like a mother (no pun intended). Here's the medical 411 on this little joy. When you are pregnant, your body is flooded with a chemical that relaxes your ligaments and muscles and whatnot. The technical, medical name for this chemical is, and I am NOT kidding here, 'relaxin'. 'Relaxin' for goodness sake. It's not inherently bad. I mean, loosey goosey ligaments and muscles are a major plus when passing a child out of your nethers. They aren't however so useful when it means your esophagus ends up relaxed enough to allow dinner to wander up in your craw every time you lay down for bed. This is a relatively minor inconvenience, however, when compared to the irritation I'm currently experiencing.
I either have extra relaxin, it started really pumping early, or I'm relaxin sensitive - regardless, I have a REALLY relaxed pelvis. Super chill, is my groin. I am, in short, a loose woman. Now again, when passing a child like a bowling bowl from twixt your legs, this is good. Prior to the actual moments/hours of birthing, this is not so good. Cause it HURTS.
Having the four major bone-parts of your pelvis free to wander about at will, independent of each other and with no ligamentarian supervision means that all the surrounding muscles and joints and tendons and whatnot get wicked ticked. These bones gone wild are wreaking havoc in their bodily neighborhood, and the complaints from the nearby residents are coming in loud and clear.
The overall sensations vary from person to person, depending on how you walk or carry your weight or the weight of your mini-me-2-b. In my case, my pelvic area, for example, feels exactly like I was assaulted in a Law & Order SVU kinda way by an elephant or 12. Or, alternatively, like I just finished a 48 hour bike ride, had my legs removed at the hip, swapped, then screwed back in improperly. So, you know, um, OW! As you can imagine from these scenarios, spreading my legs, or really separating them at all, hurts like heckola. (I'm not exactly sure how that's going to work with the whole birthing process, but I figured I'll worry about that when forced too. Hopefully the drugs will have kicked in before it ever matters.)
Plus, since most of that groinal area seems to be running amuck most of the time, when I need to actually USE those joints, they need a lot of advance notice to get back into marching formation. When I get up after sitting for a while, or lying down, I have about 5 yards of shuffling like a stoned zombie, followed by some rather disturbingly loud popping noises coming from my lower regions, before I can walk even remotely normal. This makes the semi-conscious 3am bathroom trips especially exciting/entertaining for any viewers in the area.
The official medical word on this little adventure is that it is quote, normal, end quote. That's doctor speak for 'I know it hurts like a bieotch but there isn't jack doodly we can do about it so suck it up, and also, drink a lot of water'. Any doctor given advice while pregnant always ends with 'drink a lot of water'. Apparently hyper-hydration cures everything pregnancy related. Who knew?
On top of this day to day groin-centered painfest, last weekend, courtesy of my overrelaxed muscles, I managed to twist my ankle. Doing nothing. I sat on the sofa and pointed my toes. Seriously. That was it. For this impertinent toe-pointing I was rewarded with near total loss of mobility. If you thought the idea of me shuffle stepping around while I waited for my pelvis to get it's act together was amusing, imagine me HOPPING around like a stoned zombie. It WAS really impressive, I have to admit. Jaw dropping even. So being overrelaxed extra early, really? Not recommended...
The other ahead of schedule bit would be, oh something minor, like OUR CHILD. We just went in for an ultrasound (number 3) and were informed that the baby-2-b is approximately 2-3 weeks bigger than is average at this stage. She seems to think I'm in week 31 of my pregnancy vs the actual week 28-29 that I'm in. AND she's started to grow hair. With as much as she kicks and the size and the fur thing, if I wasn't actually there at the time of conception, I would be concerned that I have the love child of Jean-Claude Van Damme and a Yeti in there.
My official advice to any and all pregnant women, now and into the indeterminate future, is Average is Good. Watch Maury, eat McDonalds, Get 'C's. Just let go of any overachieving bone you have anywhere in your body, cause if you don't, I promise you, it will sure enough dislocate itself and start to wreak havoc on every body part you own.

This just in...

At my appointment this morning the doc decided she wants to 'monitor me more closely', mainly because of the high blood pressure. She wants to make sure that I don't end up with preeclampsia - or more specifically, so they can catch it as soon as possible should I get preeclampsic, since apparently there is Jack Doodle you can do to avoid it, if'n it's a-comin'. Now, I appreciate the vigilance - it's a bad-to-dreadful thing if it kicks in - but the monitoring... oy! I now am on every 2 week doc visits, and they are making me do that pee in a jug thing AGAIN. (Mercifully, they're letting me wait til after I get back from my LA trip so I can collect my urine in a giant gas can in the privacy of my own home, instead of having to skulk around in the work place with it like last time. Whee.) I appreciate the on-top-i-tiveness, I just have a hard time reconciling it with the totally normal BP reading I got this morning.
I was also given the heads up that if I should go all preeclampsic and whatnot, the only 'cure' is to deliver the baby, which clearly, ain't an option for quite a few months yet. Barring the cure, the 'treatment' is to chain me to my bed - the dreaded bed rest! Ugh! Now, the doc said, everything is good now, but she just wanted to let me know so I'd be mentally prepared if this did happen, and that I could, and I quote, 'turn at any time'. I did consider turning on her at that point.... Lemme get this straight, the only thing I can do to possibly avoid this is drink more water? And the treatment is to just go to bed? Greeeeeaaat... sounds like my last stomach virus, and it would be about as welcome.
And on top of this adventure, I'm also due for the standard glucose screening (aka 'the drink some nasty-a** sugar laden goop and then get blood sucked' test), they want to up my ultrasounds to every 3 weeks and I need to go to the hospital for some Ghb, Gbh, Gamma boogen sompin' shot so my blood doesn't end up in a head to head face off with the baby's blood. Basically, I'm going to be spending a CRAPload of time with medical professionals over the next few months.
Talk about starting the new year with a bang! ;-)

I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Between 2 funerals (grandmothers ::sigh::), 2 rounds of work layoffs (still employed), and the general holiday chaos, blogging went bye-bye. But now that I've got a nanosecond to breathe I'll get everyone up to date cause a lots gone down - all good.

- We got our 20 week ultrasound which is the 'measure ever bone in the baby's body' ultrasound. We learned that all bones in the babies body are intact and accounted for, heart's there and beating, so allll good. We also discovered the babies gender. Before we got all excited we asked the doctor, how sure ARE you? Since we've heard stories of all blue nurseries that suddenly get populated with baby girls and visa versa - a boy named Sue and all that. So the doc whipped out the scanner, flipped the switch, and the screen was filled with our lovely child's splayed legs. Nowhere to hide a thing, no pun intended - 'Oh yeah' he said, 'I'm sure - that is DEFINITELY a girl'. So yay!

- We've also discovered that the first ultrasound did not lie - this is one active baby. Now that I can feel her, I'm pretty sure we've bred a kick-boxer. She's now kicking hard enough that I'm not the only one feeling her. The kick like a mule skill is concerning considering I've still got a whole trimester to go. She's going to get WAY bigger and WAY stronger over the next 3 months. THIS is where the stretch marks come from, I'm sure of it. God help me...

- I've also retired nearly all clothes that are non-maternity. I am unmistakably knocked-up from nearly any angle, including the rear (waddle-a-rama!). Now like the kicking skillz, this is concerning. I am short, petite, vertically-challenged, stumpy, un-tall, whatever you want to call it, but the upshot is there really isn't a lot of torso here for baby-hosting. Unless I get a liver removal, I calculate I've got about another 3 or so weeks 'til the only way to grow is out. And with 3 MONTHS left to go, it looks like I'm going to end up approximately as wide as I am tall. Now it's not like I'm giving up a skateboarding career here, but with these proportions I'm not sure how WALKING is going to go. It's going to be entertaining I'm sure.

Next up is a trip next week to LA so we'll be flying cross county and playing tourist, at least as much as I am able in my early-waddling state. This will be one globe-trotting fetus - she'll have been to NYC, West Palm Beach and LA all before she's born! We're clearly enjoying the travel thing while we can. ;-) I'll be updating on the fun upon return...

Wow - that is REALLY ugly - on you, I mean...

It's been kinda a busy couple of weeks - and by 'busy' I mean 'craptacular'. A funeral to attend (sigh), and layoffs to dodge (ugh). Mercifully, both are over. The plus side is I'm still employed (rock ON) so I can finally stop being the undercover mother at work. I'm not sure which I'm more excited about. Yes, successfully job hunting while obviously knocked up would be difficult, if not impossible, but wearing tight pants and having to suck it in all day REALLY bites, so... tough call...
In preparation for my coming out at work, I went maternity clothes shopping. And wow, was that an experience. Made all the more experiential by having my coolest/oldest (in duration) friend in the area, R, with me. [I'd use her name but she does this nickname/initials thing in HER blog so I'm rolling with that - if she's got a better nickname I should use, she should report in, hint hint. And 'Queen of all I survey' is too long and I can't spell ululating maenaid...or whatever, so guess again.] Because we've been friends for as long as we have, she's honest with me - if not brutally honest when called for. And on this trip? Called for.
So for those of you who haven't gone shopping for maternity clothes, let me paint the picture. If you are a man, this won't be applicable - not because you can't get knocked up, but because clothes always fit you. Or your gender is impervious to pain due to waist binding or has amazing belt skills or less bizarre variety of styles or whatever - but regardless - you do not suffer quite the way we womenfolk do when it comes to clothing. So, back to picture painting.
Imagine the last time you went clothes shopping. Think about how many items you sorted through to get to one you thought was 'cute' or 'pretty' or 'was a color that didn't make me look like cow poop on a platter'. Maybe what, 1 in 20 or 30 things? In a store with stuff that you generally LIKE I mean. Outlets tend to run 1 in like 80 million. Let us, here in imaginationland, take these items into the dressing room. I know I know - this will be hard for all of us, but we are in it together...
Of the small handful of items how many of them didn't 'bind' or 'pinch' or 'make your butt look like a billboard'? Maybe 1 in 10ish? Now, take jeans and bras out of the mix entirely - they are an entirely different breed. Those run 1 in 100 on a good day, and we all know it. We've all been there, and the pain is still fresh.
So now that we've built this imaginary clothing shopping experience - let's apply this to the real world of maternity shopping! First the additional 'factors'. One, you are cranky - maybe it's hormones maybe it's that your underwear has been too tight for at least a month, but for whatever reason, crankicity. Two, your body is no longer your own - it's changing pretty much hourly so everything you ever knew about what styles generally look good on you or whatever, out the window. And whatever you learn about what works, could very well look like ass on you in a month. Talk about a moving target.
Three, the selection of maternity clothes blows CHUNKS. Both in volume and style. AND they are a bitch to find. Quick, where's the nearest maternity clothing store? What about the nearest store that carries maternity clothes? SEE?! Unless you are wearing a nursing bra RIGHT NOW, you have no clue (and if you said Target, that doesn't count since they carry EVERYTHING)
Knowing alllll this, let's go maternity clothes shopping. Whee!
My first excursion was to a store that carried exclusively maternity clothes, which I found solely due to a mall map. My friend to-be-nicknamed-later and I had just had dinner at Tyson's and I figured, what the heck, bound to have SOMETHING in here - it's consumerist heaven. And Lo, a maternity store.
Let's harken back to our earlier 'cute' to 'ew' ratio 1-20 to 30 right? Ok here? 1 in, um, 100. Not that the clothes were, like, hideous, but I'm not what you call a floral and ruffles kinda gal. At all. In fact, I am nearly phobic about lace. Sliiiiiim pickins. THEN you put them on. Remember, I have basically no clue what my current body shape is - since it changes every couple of hours I have trouble keeping up. But these guys are pros, and have foreseen this very problem! They nicely provide a strap-on for you in the fitting room - strap-on belly I mean. Just so you can get an idea of what shape you will be in the next 4 months.
Now, I've not done this before, but I certainly have seen my fair share of knocked up chick and NONE of them had a belly that looked even remotely like this Velcro-able abomination. I seriously looked like an alien ovapositor had been involved in conception. I mean, it was POINTY for God sake! SO not helpful.
Pretty much I am flying blind on this, fitting-wise. I'll spare you the worse of the multiple size swaps, the contortions and dressing room angst. I don't want to trigger flashbacks for any of you. But I will tell you that one outfit made me look like a bloated roe-filled mermaid, one made me look like a 'who's the babydaddy' jerry springer guest, and one just made my friend-to-be-nicknamed-later AND the *sales clerk for the store* laugh hysterically. I managed to cull 2 skirts and some underwear out of the pile of discards and damaged self-esteem, which put my numbers at 1 in 30 for fitting. (And anyone who tells you you don't need maternity underwear can come kiss my comfortably cotton clad bootie, cause they are wrong wrong wrong! Happy sigh!)
I repeated this entire process yesterday at Target, only without the peanut gallery/'support'. And instead of starting with an entire store I started with 5, count 'em, 5 racks of maternity clothes. We've already established that I suck at math, but if you want to apply the 1 in 100 "isn't ass-ugly" ratio to that starting number, then overlay the 1 in 30 "doesn't make you look like you should be at Fleet Week, either as a 'service provider' or an aircraft carrier" ratio, that should give you a good idea of what I walked out of there with.
Yup, you got it - cat food and toilet paper...

I'm off to a work conference next week which should give me even more fodder for my next post - 'the joys of being knocked up in an office environment and the weird things that happen when you come out of the preggers closet'

OK, math isn't really my strong suit, but c'mon!

Yay! Results are finally in but I should give you the full context... actually, I should give you the full, FULL context... The deep background on this is the following - my babydaddy's grandmother just passed away, the same day we got that news, I found out that MY grandmother was hospitalized, and there is a chance that I will be losing my job next week as part of a massive 'reorganization' at my company. While not directly tied to my being knocked up, these details do help paint the picture of, um, mild stress the man and I were under. I also learned that stress can trigger a relapse of morning sickness - great little educational tidbit there...
So considering the run of crapluck we seem to have been in the middle of we were a bit anxious about the results of the testing. Which you would be anyway, really, but when rendered borderline paranoid by circumstances, the edginess gets a little booster shot.
For those unfamiliar with this testing deal (which is probably most folks, parental or not, since they just came up with this routine a few years ago), it's a 2 parter. First they do an ultrasound and measure.... well, something in the neck area. I was fuzzy about exactly what, but what I'm sure about, through the process, is that it can only be measured when the baby-to-be is in a certain position. A position, I might add, that OUR baby-to-be determinedly refused to take up. And I'm not talking like, down dog or eagle pose here - the kidlet just needed to lay on its back. But would it? OOooooh no. Of course not. Thus the 10 minute ultrasound turned into a hour and 15 minutes worth of comedy fodder.
The tech, God love her, was a sweet and patient woman, and at no point did she begin thumping my belly like a bongo, though I'm sure the desire was strongly there... What she did do was, at first, grease me up and scan a little this way, and a little that way. No luck. Baby gave back - clearly presenting the rear from every angle - which I guess is the fetus equivalent of giving someone the hand. Kidlet was having none of it.
So sweettech goes to Plan B - a sort of gentle jiggling of the ultrasound wand (mercifully an external) to try to encourage relocation. Yeah - no. Nothing. So she goes to slightly more vigorous jiggling. This triggered arm or antennae waving, it's hard to tell what anything is on those screens. But nothing else. The angle was still a no go. After 15 minutes of poke and jiggle the tech yields. OK Plan C - lie on your side for a few minutes, that will usually make the kidlet relocate. So I obediently flop over and lie. And lie. And lie.
10 minutes of lying and the tech comes back. "Let's see if that worked!" Well, yes and no. The kidlet DID move, so yay! The angle still sucks, so boo. So she goes to Plan D, try new directions. So she comes at the belly from the left, from the right, from the top, from the bottom, from the top left, the bottom right - you get the idea. and every angle is close, oh so close, and yet...no. I offer to do a little down dog myself. The tech seems to consider it briefly but passes. She's convinced that the mid bottom rightish angle can work....the kidlet is soooooo close. So she reverts to a more vigorous application of poke and jiggle technique. Poke...JIIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLLE! Poke.... JIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLE!!!! And finally! Success! The kidlet moves to its back, and she begins snapping ultrasound shots like she's the paparazzi with an angle on Britney's bare yaya.
Now the purpose of the poke and jiggle is the bug the baby-to-be enough that he/she relocates. Which worked, but the side effect is that you are left with a seriously bugged baby-to-be. And apparently when our baby-to-be is seriously bugged, it turns into a total spaz. This little thing was FREAKING OUT in there. Limblets a-flailing. Noggin a-turnin. And mid-photo shoot, he/she began what I can only refer to as 'Sproinging'. It wasn't so much a bounce or a hop, as a full body jump. In fact, there was brief discussion about whether fetuses could get hiccups at this stage of development. But after 'Sproing!!!' #15 it was clear that this was very purposeful protest spazzing, not involuntary twitches. This was one P.O.ed kidlet. And, God help me, while I'm sure my soon-to-be-maternal heart should have swelled with sympathy for the agitated little guy/gal, but all I could do was point and laugh. In my defense - it was *hilarious* - seriously. "Sproing!!! SPROING!! sproingsproingsproing!!!" And of course every time I laughed, it wound the critter up more, and the tech kept losing the picture, cause the kidlet was bouncing around so much. The tech finally just gave up - she got enough from the first few photos and it was pretty clear we weren't going to get much more today from the mexican jumping bean. As she packed up she said, well, we know your child has strong legs, that's for sure...
We had an appointment scheduled to review the official results of the testing with our OB for Tuesday. Remember that 'same day' grandmother bad news confluence I mentioned earlier? Yeah - THAT would be the same Tuesday. So by the time we get in there, my brain is a little baked. Because this is a multi-doc practice and my regular OB was on vacation this week, we has started the 'meet all the people who could possibly end up birthing your baby' rotations early. Whee. Major stressful test results from a stranger.
When new doc trots in, she seems quite personable, albeit without a clear sense of humor, and she begins chitchatting, 'so how are you feeling...?' um...good....
'great! And how are you with the symptoms?' um... good...
'Great! And do you have any questions for me today?' um... yeah... What were the test results?! 'oh! hmm.... is that why you are in today? I don't seem to have those....'
I think.
'Let me see what we can find out!' um.... please....
She siccs a nurse on the testing office, then comes back in. 'While she's getting those results, do you have any questions about the tests?' Yes, actually...
The deal is that they give you a ratio for odds of having a down's syndrome baby, based on the combination of the ultrasound measurements of the...well whatever they measure... and various blood chemicals. So I ask what the ratio means. The doctor and my husband look at me like I'm nuts. My husband kindly explains using that tone one uses with a 6 year old. "well, if the ratio is 1 in 100 you have a 1 percent chance of having a down's syndrome baby, so 1 in 1000 is a .1% chance. Do you understand?". Um.... yeah...
OK, yes, I was out sick in elementary school when we did fractions, but I've played the lottery and blackjack so I GET the odds thing. Please. Although the fact that I've played the lottery could be an argument AGAINST me getting the odds thing....At any rate, what I DON'T get is what is considered 'good' relative to say, the planet. What I need is a CONTEXT. While I didn't use those words exactly to clarify - I think there was more frothing pregnant hormonal attitude in my response - but I did get my point across. After backing slowly away from me, the doc pulled out "The Wheel" - which I thought was just for calculating due dates, but is apparently the Rosetta Stone for all things preggers, and told me that based solely on my age my odds are 1 in 167ish. Great! Exactly what I needed - anything better than that, is good. THANK you. You may all stop looking at me like I'm insane now...
This is about the point where the nurse pokes her head in the room to inform us that, while the ultrasound 1/2 of the results are in and look good, the official all things included results are not yet available and they'll have to call us with those. Well, nuts. THAT was worth the office visit...
So we wait. And wait. And wait.... Finally Friday - the call - and the results? "Normal" says the nurse. YAY! Ok, no, WAIT. I spent WAY too much time figuring out this whole odds/ratio thing - I want NUMBERS! Quantify normal for me! The nurse, while probably mildly taken aback at my obsession with math, obliged. According to the official results, my ratio went from 1 in 167 to 1 in 2,741. How they came up with that number exactly is beyond me, but I gotta say... I like those odds... :-)
Tune in next week for my first maternity clothing shopping experience...imagine your last bra or jeans shopping experience - now velcro a pod to your gut....yeah, it was like that...

ok this is a token post and I totally admit it...

we had our genetic testing on Thursday but won't get the results back til Tuesday so i figured I'd do a full wrote up then but i also don't want to break my weekly update streak so this is a lame one but tune in Tuesday to see why the sweet ultrasound tech probably hates my guts...

um... suuuure I see it...

So unlike the first doctor visit, I was slightly more prepared/hormone stable for visit number 2. This, I'm sure, was good for all parties involved... This early on, I wanted my BabyDaddy to come to any appointments that might include any milestones of note, and early on, there are quite a few milestones. Later on, the poor man doesn't really need to show up every two weeks to hear the detailed report of my bloating and piddling, now does he? The medical professional gets some form of renumeration for listening, but really, what's in it for him?
This next appointment was a bit of a toss up. Since I'd been more than slightly spacey first go around, I had no idea what to expect for this one, having not had enough sense to ASK. Several of my 'reference' manuals ('what to expect' - for the clinically inclined, and 'girlfriends guide' - for those who need REAL advice), had mentioned that there was the chance of hearing a heart beat at this stage of babybaking - which would be wicked cool and I didn't want him to miss that, but then, I really had no clue what was actually going to go down. My BabyDaddy, being the best BabyDaddy ever, was willing to take time off from work and tearass across town just on the off-chance that we might hear a little thump-a-thump. This general sweetum-ness is one of the many reasons I let him knock me up in the first place.
Like I said, I didn't know what to expect, but I was reallly realllly hoping the doc would do the heartbeat with the professional baby heartbeat listener thinggie (<- technical medical term). I mean how cool would that be! Plus, I did want the BabyDaddy's commute to be worth it - if we didn't do anything but talk about unpleasant bodily functions, I'd feel a little bad for him.
Imagine my joy and delight when the doc decided to pull out the big guns and do not a listener thinggie but a lookie thinggie (aka an ultrasound) - woo hoo! Way better than hearing the heartbeat, we'd get to SEE the spawn.
My joy was damped slightly when I saw the ultrasound, wheeled out with an extended apology. 'Now remember this is out satellite office so this is one of our older machines. Actually, I think this is our oldest machine, so the resolution won't be so great...' We're talking soviet bloc surplus here, really, but hey - any baby picture is a good baby picture at this stage.
The upside of this circa 1972 machinery is that this was an 'outtie' ultrasound. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of yet learning such ugly details about the underbelly of pregnancy, let me enlighten you. In order to get a better view of the growing human implant, ultrasound machines will try to get closer to the baby-to-be. And how would one get closer? This about it... the only way to get closer is to go...um... inside. Things you neither knew, nor wanted to know, huh?
So I was pleased to know my initiation into the world of ultrasounds was a gentle exterior one, mercifully. The doc flopped me onto my back and greased me up like an old Chevy at a jiffy lube. My hope is that when I get upgraded to the 'detailed' view version, they use at least as much gunk as they did this time cause, man, did I need a bath when they were done.
After a bit of poking around a grey and black lumpy peanut appeared on the screen. The doc jabs and turns a bit and says 'there it is - there's the baby and there's the heart beat! See it?' Um... no actually... I look over at the hubby 'Honey? Do you see it?' He jabs vaguely with his finger, 'Of course! it's right there! See that little fluttering? Mid-peanut lump?' Um...again with the no... It was like one of those annoying as all heck Magic Eye things 'Can't you see the ship?! It's right THERE?! Just relax your eyes... I mean it's right THERE!' Man was that annoying...
The doc is swiping the price scanner about willy nilly at this point 'yep everything looks really good... looks good in here.... would you like me to print out a picture for you?' Hope ignites in my little heart... 'Yes please!' Figuring I could get the hubby to point to the exact where of the magic eye ship of the heartbeat is after the fact. Maybe I saw it and just didn't KNOW that I saw it... maybe.... you know... it could happen!
'I told you it was old, but you can get kinda negative version' As soon as she handed over the printout, I knew I wasn't getting aaaaanything else out of this...This thing looked like it was printed on a dot matrix printer I swear. I'd seen all I was going to see for this go around.
So no, I didn't see my baby-to-be's heart beating, but my babydaddy did, and that's good enough for me.